


waiting room

by moonlitknight



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hospitals, Mentions of surgery, Not Beta Read, Oneshot, hospital waiting room, its kinda awkward!, mentions of gore, not particularly romantic in anyway but what were you expecting, patrick being patrick?, reader is minding their business, staying in their lane, there's literally like 1 line of dialogue, this was meant to be written more cathartically than anything, uncomfortable silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitknight/pseuds/moonlitknight
Summary: The boy in the waiting room had eyes for you in the early morning fog.
Relationships: Patrick Hockstetter & Reader, Patrick Hockstetter/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	waiting room

**Author's Note:**

> to note: both the reader and patrick are in high school/old enough to drive.

The early morning sky loomed dark over the road and surrounding city, the time showing 5 a.m. The roads were nearly empty, sporadically placed cars blinding with their headlights. Nervousness clouded the windows, though invisible with the heat turned on. The road ahead fogged with uncertainty. The jounrey seemed to last a life-time yet an instant as the vehicle pulled into a parking place.

Ahead loomed a hospital, illuminate by lights inside and out. It appeared daunting, with the lack of sunlight and its sheer size, sterile and uninviting because of the cool tempered lights and limited palate. An unnerving environment, and you found yourself hoping much time wasn’t to be spent within its walls.

The trek to the building was short, the air filled with the tired want to get this all over with and fragments of unfinished, unimportant conversation. Checking in was brief, and a blur, then suddenly personnel was leading you to a waiting room.

It appeared vacant in its multiple-room expanse. The volunteer desk sat empty, a phone propped up on the desk and not much else in immidiete sight. Strangely, the empty space felt cozier than the building’s exterior - to some extent. The space had many chairs, decked out in neutral grays, beiges, browns and barely tolerable greens. The rest of the decor followed suit, subtle patterns scaling the light brown walls. It was bearable, and you knew that despite the initial observation, you wouldn’t be paying much attention to it anyway. You settled yourself into a corner of one of the rooms, near a large window overlooking the civilization cascaded in darkness, taking care of you and your parents belongings. They’d been taken off not very long after, a nurse briefly explaining how long you’d likely be spending in the room.

The day’s schedule was to have a minimal amount of surgeries, allegedly only three or four, and shown by the large television screens around the room with patient information. Visitors were harshly limited, to only those who would be driving the patient home and being their potential caretaker. It didn’t particularly phase you, if anything you found yourself comforted by the fact that you would likely have the room to yourself for a majority of your time there. You glanced at your phone, taking note of the time, a quarter passed 6 a.m., and making a mental reminder of the texts to send out when it wasn’t an indecent hour.

Time passed moderately, some texts coming through from your parent on how they were doing and where they were before the treatment began. Their nerves translated through the texts, and you felt a bit sad that you couldn’t be with them through the process, instead opting to try and ease them a bit with typical banter. Soon you got up to make yourself a cup of coffee, an attempt to ward off any incoming grogginess that could’ve been left over from waking up.

The sun’s rise was overshadowed by gray skies and fog, what was visible of the area’s movement momentarily catching your attention. In your lap sat a sketchbook, forgotten momentarily. Your attention was pulled away from the window and sunrise by a pair talking on the other side of the room. On the surface you found yourself a bit curious, though deeper down a vague annoyance made itself noticeable. Perhaps it was selfish to want the room to yourself, though you couldn’t deny that you did.

The pair proved more talkative then you and your parent were, a male and female’s voice carrying through the room. They sat in the front, away from you, and were led by another member of personnel then the woman who led you up. You couldn’t help but sneak a glance, getting a momentary eyeful of a woman, who looked young for her potential age, and a boy who looked about the same age as you. You glanced away before any of them caught your eye, instead taking in the white page in front of you and got busy with your pencil.

It wasn’t long before the pair settled, the woman’s nerves making themselves apparent through her babbling. The boy beside her took to lightly worded, small replies. His voice gave away his apathy for the situation. With the tinge of annoyance still in you, you wondered for a moment why it was that  _ he _ was the one brought here when  _ she _ was getting surgery. You tuned out from eavesdropping, focusing again on art and beginning to text people as the time came to 7:30 a.m. and the woman left with a nurse, leaving you and the boy in the room.

He shifted, grabbing he and the woman’s(you presumed she was his mother) things before taking their things into the room in front of you. The silence loomed as you caught another look at him; ink black hair, pale, lanky, and stoic. His expression was all but profile and a momentary glance for you to capture, so you couldn’t be very sure. His fashion was dark, heavy-looking boots on his feet and a plethora of rings on his fingers. You looked back to your phone.

Time passed without warning, and a volunteer nurse made their way to the desk. She greeted you, exchanging pleasantries. You declined her, politely, and wore a smile too bright for the morning. She walked away, and you felt eyes on you.

The smile fell and your eyes traveled, looking out the window and into the one next door to see the boy staring at you. He appeared calm and collected in his dark countenance, the color of his eyes and face distorted by the tint of the window. You felt a bit uncomfortable, shifting in your seat and looking back down to your lap to work once again. You caught him cracking a grin at that - wide,  _ too _ wide, and a bit sinister-looking before he, too, looked away.

Soon another woman came in, you recognized her from the front desk, and retrieved the boy; apparently he’d gotten by without getting a visitor pass. He smiled at her, once again in a bit of a creepy fashion, before picking not just his things - but  _ everything _ . His mother’s and his things, taking it all with him. You felt a bit of apprehension settle in your veins quickly, coursing through and turning into a bit of offendedness. What did he think, you were going to take his things? An internal scoff as he walked with her.

Time passed and you continued to text friends and loved ones, keeping them updated the best you could from the waiting room. It was 8:00 a.m., and the surgery was set to start. Your parent sent one last text, and you wished them luck with a small smile on your face. The boy came back in, and you glanced at the movement - only to catch him taking you in once again. You shifted uncomfortably -  _ awkward _ .

The silence continued, and you continued to feel his stare on you. It become more than annoying, shifting instead to vague curiousity and self-conciousness. Did you look weird? Was he  _ actually _ looking at you, or the painting on the wall above you? Were people drawing considered to be odd? Regardless, you didn’t meet his gaze, instead focusing on the outcome of the doodle.

An hour passed like that, and you wondered how someone could look at someone for so long without getting bored. You looked up, glancing at the screen to see how the process was going; noticing how it progressed to them being In Recovery. The phone at the desk rang, the nurse picking it up and speaking into it briefly. You were retrieved and told to sit in another room to speak to a doctor about your parent.

It didn’t take very long for the doctor to come in, a level-headed and calm-voiced man who explained the success of the surgery and steps to take forward for your parent. You would be doing most of the heavy lifting from this point until they were healed, and you felt prepared for it. You nodded along to his words, listening, unable to shake the feeling of being watched once again and not letting it become a distraction.

Soon the doctor excused himself, and you thanked him for his time. You set off to the restroom for a few minutes. As you stepped out to get back to your seat, the boy had moved himself closer to you, this time facing the window, leaning his head on his open palm. The feeling of unease wormed itself up your spine and you cringed momentarily before settling back into your seat. His eyes were on you almost right away, and you made the desperate move to look busy. 

You glanced up to the screen once again, the time turning to 9:20 a.m., your parent still being in recovery. His eyes stayed on you, unfazed. You spent another beat staring at the screen before shifting to look him in the eye to take him in once again. This time he didn’t crack into a grin, instead continuing to stare at you with a lazy, dead, dull blue-green stare. It unsettled you, guard down for a moment before you sat there and mirrored his expression.

This continued for moments, the moments turning to minutes and time continued ticking away. The stare’s awkward ambiance melted away quickly, replaced with a battle of wills; competitiveness. At least, to you. He got up, breaking eye contact with you, and walked to the corner of the room where the bathroom and vending machine were. It was done so casually that it left you momentarily confused, brow furrowing. One clear thought stuck out to you,  _ what the fuck? _ You decided not to linger on it, instead checking the time. 9:45. Weird.

Shaking off the feeling of confusion, you focused once again on your sketchbook. The mystery boy came over once again, sitting down and, instead of looking at you, took out his own phone to play on. The silence took a surprisingly comfortable turn despite the two of you being strangers, but that didn’t change the fact that you wanted to leave, but that only ebbed at the edges of it.

“Ever seen a rotting deer’s ribcage?” He broke the ( _ perfectly fine _ ) silence.

Oh, nevermind.

“No thanks.”

He shifted to show you the phone regardless, the grin back in place as your brow furrowed once again. Thankfully, the nurse stepped in, telling you that your parent was ready to go. You got up, grabbing you and your parents things quickly before leaving the room completely as quickly as possible, leaving the boy and, unfortunately, your sketchbook. He grinned to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first work on here! :') hooray. the intentions of this were to be more personal, theurapeutic to an extent. there's not much talking, and it takes place in modern day. i'm not sure how alive the IT fandom is, much less reader inserts, but i'm dipping my toe into the waters.  
> i'm not sure how well i portrayed patrick, but if you've got any input i'd love to see it! thank you for reading, and have a lovely day. please comment, i'd really like to know what people thought.


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